Home… is a Memory

Home. It has many different definitions, but to me, it’s a memory. Everything in my home reminds me of something! My mom’s famous stew reminds me of the time she added too much pepper, and when me and my brother said it was spicey, she denied it! My sister’s highchair reminds me of the time she fell backwards off it!!! But not all homes make good memories; some people’s homes remind them of pain, or difficulty. My mom’s home was an old shed, in Bolivia, where she had to catch stray chickens to survive! Not even the meaning of home, but the meaning of life! It’s memories. They are golden! Time is ALWAYS ticking by, and you never have enough of it. From the magical smell of food floating through the air, to the sound of my mom groaning after finding out the basement is flooded, memories are the things that stay, even though you can’t touch them. So many people don’t even have a home to make memories in! This is a problem, but a problem you are working to fix. Thank you, for making memories happen.